


careless curses

by alexanderlightweight



Series: Words of October 2019 [40]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Dark, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderlightweight/pseuds/alexanderlightweight
Summary: The Lightwood family has been cursed by death for generations and now, Alec lives with death hovering over him.Sometimes life is the curse and death the reward.





	careless curses

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this comic on Tumblr](https://alexanderlightweight.tumblr.com/post/188038937640/thegreenpea-unrivaledpower7)
> 
> it's a different style but I felt it was a fitting way to end the month. Blessed Samhain.

Alec was born cursed.

Then again, being born cursed was nothing new, at least not for his family. Curses ran in his lineage as thick and unnegotiable as angel blood did. 

On his eighteen birthday, death would come and steal his breath as it would do for every firstborn Lightwood heir ever born. His father was a second son, who had only escaped fate by the sacrifice of his older sister. Once upon a time, the Lightwood line had been not only prestigious but bountiful with heirs and now those who bore its name dwindled in number. 

There were however ways to circumvent the curse and Alec learnt them all.

A thick iron chain to place around his neck, hidden beneath his shirts, a cold stark weight that reminded him every day of what awaited him the moment he let down his guard. Salt to purify his room and herbs that he burned when he woke and before he slept, and every protective rune that he had access to was seared onto both his skin and the walls of his room.

Death comes for him on his birthday as death comes for all and Alec smiles dangerously when it does, he is ready. 

The iron is frigid against his skin and the salt thick under his quick of his nails but he stands strong and faces the tall shadow of a man that waivers and lingers but never truly forms. A hand reaches out for him, nails dark as though already stained with his blood and Alec watches and doesn’t flinch even as death hisses and pushes against an invisible boundary. 

Death comes for Alec and it stays but it doesn’t take his breath, at least not yet.

A curse is a curse and putting it off cannot break it and while death is not constant, it is an inevitable cycle and Alec learns the cool dread that follows in the shadow’s wake. Lights flicker and dance, the world waivers around him in an echo of confusion and Alec grits his teeth and closes his eyes and tries to sleep. It seems sometimes, as though his dreams are the only place he’s truly safe but even there, sometimes death visits. 

His father is astonished by his survival but proud, thinking that they’ve broken the curse and his mother is relieved but silent. There are lines on her face that weren’t there even just a few months ago and he knows that while he daily battles death, his mother also battles fears. She knows that all it will take is for him to step wrongly once and he will die.

It is a burden they share in silence and he thinks in another world she would be harsher perhaps, the stern line of her lips something cruel. In this world, when Maryse purses her lips it is with worry and when her gaze follows him, it is not to pick out his flaws but to sear him into her memory, just in case.

He’s nineteen and exhausted, an iratze is healing his ribs but there is a lingering ache deep in his lungs and the chain around his neck is a heavy reminder that not only has he cheated death today, but that he cheats death every day. 

The presence is less loud tonight. Still there but the coolness that it brings with it is soothing to how hot Alec feels, he groans and rolls from the bed and stretches out on the floor and it almost feels as if the darkness eases some of his pain. Alec reaches out and for just a moment, closes his eyes and imagines a hand pressing against his own.

Death never speaks but Alec always listens. 

Sometimes there is much to be said in silence. 

Alec is twenty and his brow is furrowed more often than it’s smooth. At this rate it’s more than likely that his sister and brother are going to be the cause of his death, which is saying something since he has a literal curse hanging over his head. 

Death is late that night and Alec finds himself growing maudlin. There are times in the lonely night when he speaks, if only because Death seems to be the only being to ever actually listen to him. 

_Once, when Alec was ranting and repeating what Hodge taught him, a message carved itself into his wall and Alec had stared at the ichor oozing from the wall; asking him who is truly the slave. One who listens to their emotions and thinks for themselves or one who listens to their leader and has no free thoughts. After that, Alec began taking what Hodge taught him with more salt than he circled around his room and oh, the lessons he’s since learned. _

Now, Alec looks at the wall and sighs. There is no message on the wall, no ichor dripping down the seams that he’ll have to scrub away and no glass from the many shattered pots and vases he’s gone through in the last two years. 

There is nothing, Alec tries not to feel abandoned and wonders when he began to rely on death.

One night, Alec awakens to the scent of whiskey. It’s heavy and thick in the air and he wrinkles his nose at the taste of it on his tongue. 

When he turns on the light, he blinks at the harsh stains on the wall. It’s splattered across in blood and what he knows is alcohol and he bites back a hurt noise as the word ‘kill’ forms in front of him.

As if realizing he’s now awake and watching, the world seems to pause and he can see the shadowing form of death reaching for him. 

“No.” Alec says and he can’t help that his voice is low and hurt. He'd almost forgot, almost lowered his guard and now he shores it up. Draws up to his full height and shakes his head, a stubborn dismissal of the chill in the room or the curse in his blood, “enough.”

He leaves his room that night to pace the halls and train and while the lights flicker and the windows creak, death plays no tricks on him.

The room is dark, the only light the witchlight that Alec tosses into the air and catches at random when the shadows start to move about him. He groans and flings an arm over his eyes, witchlight clenched tightly in his fist as he tries to drown out the shake of his furniture and the sudden almost ghostly chill of his room. In a fit of anger, he sits up and throws his witchlight at the figure he knows is waiting for him. 

The small stone hangs, suspended in the air as the light from it flickers and then grows bold. 

It is not the warm, angelic and comforting light that Alec knows but a deep, encompassing crimson that paints his room with red light, as a slaughterhouse might stain its walls with blood.

He gets out of bed wary but curious as he walks over to death and when he reaches out, he touches fingers to the stone and the light melds. Warm soft yellow meeting strong, powerful red and it marries his room into something deep and golden.

It’s a stolen moment, one that hangs between life and death and Alec lets it settle about him, knowing that whatever truce holds good tonight, might be gone the next.

Alec grows older, somehow. He grows wiser though it takes time and the lessons are often harsh, the messages on his wall damning him for every misstep he takes and every wrong choice he makes. Sometimes it praises him but those nights Alec always stares too long at his wall and wonders once again, just how bad would it be, to let go.

“I can’t, not tonight.” He begs one night because he’s tired and sore and around him the world spins but Alec feels as though he’s going nowhere. There is a dance, this intricate beat between him and Death but it can only ever end in one way and sometimes, when he’s tired on nights like this, he’s tempted to break a link in the chain and let Death take him.

As if it knows how he feels, the shadow settles close but it leaves him be and Alec aches with a sadness he doesn’t understand. Despite a curse he lives but as he lives, he feels more and more cursed.

“My dad wants me to get married soon.” He admits and the words are bitter on his tongue, “he wants me to have a kid as soon as possible.” Alec laughs and he the tears he fights back burn his eyes. “Why can’t I have one thing easy?” He begs the darkness, “it’s hard enough just living, why do I have to hate that too?” 

The darkness has no answer for him and the wall remains clear. Alec groans and sinks to the floor, rests his head on his knees and hugs his legs to his chest. Even breathing feels exhausting and it’s not till he’s on the verge of a panic attack that his window rattles. The clasp slips open and the cold, crisp breeze of a New York wind in February fills his room. 

It’s fresh and sends a shiver down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he lifts his head. Snow flurries are in the air, gently settling on his window sill and floor and Alec huffs in annoyance as he gets up and goes over to slam it shut.

He pauses once there, staring in awe at the sight before him. Every inch of the Institute’s hallowed ground is covered in snow. Deep and untouched and beautiful with a strange clarity, the moon peeking through to light his vision. 

“It’s beautiful.” He says softly, to himself and possible to death and he leans against the cold wall, fingers outstretched to catch a snowflake. For a moment he forgets where he is and who he is and as he shuts the window, he whispers a soft, “thank you” into the night.

Death doesn’t answer, but Alec knows he's heard.

Alec is twenty-one and tired of the games and tricks that Death plays. There are still days he wants to give in and let death have him and other’s still where he wants nothing more than to spite death for all eternity. 

Right now however, he finds himself furious with his siblings. They got cocky, had to show off for absolutely no one and no reason and Alec had barely managed to keep them safe and alive. Then, while he activated his iratze, they had laughed at his seriousness and made fun of his protectiveness. So Alec did something he’d never done before, he called his mother and explained in explicit detail their recklessness. 

Once, Alec might have felt bad but today is not a good day and he can’t handle pretending as though they don’t cause him problems. 

He takes a shower and the steam curls about his room and in the mirror is written just a simple, 'you did good'. It makes the ache in chest less hollow and he leans his brow against the glass and lets his breath erase the words.

Death is a being whose presence lingers but lately Alec’s received more messages, small reminders that make his life easier and just this morning on his desk had been a bone dry rose, perfect in shape and full of color, even in death. 

As he dresses, he sees another message on his mirror, a reminder that his bow broke on his last hunt and he chuckles, having forgotten. 

“Thank you.” He says and he reaches out and presses his fingers against the mirror, leaving an imprint of his hand to fade into nothingness when the steam recedes. 

Now when he makes tea in the evening he’ll bring back two mugs to his room. He sips his in peace and when he takes them back to the mess hall, both are empty. 

When he reads and his eyes work just fine but his body aches, the pages turn for him and someone he can’t quite see lays against his side. 

Several times now, he’s come back from a hunt, covered in ichor and blood and taken a shower only to come out and find clean clothes laid out for him, the dirty ones in the hamper. If he’s badly injured, there will be a reminder on the wall for him to take a day of rest and sometimes when he’s shaving death lingers close. No longer trying to startle him into cutting his own neck, but to helpfully hint when he’s missed a spot. 

Life settles into a pattern and Alec worries less about avoiding death and more about avoiding life. The weight of responsibilities lies heavy on him but with death hanging over him, it doesn’t feel so burdensome. 

One day Alec is laughing at the strange faces the shadows can make and the next he’s blushing, just slightly, from the small heart etched into his mirror. His heart beats double as he shakily raises a hand and instead of erasing it, like he should, he draws his own heart, entangled with Death’s.

Alec wouldn’t say he grows careless after that and if anything, it gives him a reason to live. For the first time he feels something in his soul stir with excitement and hope and it’s because of Death. 

Then, despite his new desire to live and the lack of spite he holds towards the curse, the chain breaks. 

It’s just one link. A weak link that cracked at some point and only held on till now. 

The iron slides free and Alec knows that Death feels it, his vulnerability. 

He can’t help the way his heart beats overtime, not in fear but in sorrow and when Death takes Alec’s face into his hand, he leans into the touch and slowly looks up to meet Death’s face.

He’s beautiful. Just like Alec knew he’d be.

Gold eyes blink tenderly at him and the sharp nails are gentle as they press into his skin and then cold lips are pressed against his own and Alec loses his breath, just like he already lost his heart.

When he blinks his eyes open, the chain is coiled on the ground and Death is gone. The only evidence Alec has is the chill of the room and the red of his bruised lips when he looks in the mirror.

Death is gone and with it, his heart.

Alec throws himself into hunting and life with an abandon that he lost with death and pushes himself in training until his knuckles bleed the tears of his heart. 

No curse hangs over his head but cursed he feels and Alec does everything he can to regain what he lost. 

Books speak little of the curse and the records of his ancestors only speak of evading or attempts on how to conquer death, not on how to find _ him _. 

Alec feels hollow and at night he clenches his witchlight so tightly in his fist that he can almost pretend it glows gold.

Finally, he gets a lead. Someone who can summon greater demons and darker beings and he goes to them. In the dark of the night with sacrifice on his mind and a book read by death and a rose touched by him, to a loft deep in Brooklyn, a prince’s lair.

Alec’s heard the rumors of the High Warlock and how he’s been in a terrible fit of temper of late but he pays them no heed. His concerns are all spent on another eldritch and immortal being.

When he knocks on the door he hears a voice he’s never heard and it’s a melancholy echo of a whisper lost to shadows. It opens to a man dressed in fabric that mimics the darkest of shadows and eyes that bleed the gold of dragons hoard and Alec hears the breath that was stolen from him stutter on a gasp.

“Alexander?” 

Alec nods, he doesn’t know death’s name but he doesn’t need to and when they kiss, his lips are warm but his nails are still sharp and he holds Alec close with the grip of one who will never let go. 

Alec never wants him to.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last of my works for Words of October. I've exceeded all my original goals and am finishing this up as a new month with new projects comes. Thank you for reading and all the lovely comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [alexanderlightweight](https://alexanderlightweight.tumblr.com)


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